


(He's in Love with Me and) I Feel Fine

by PAPERSK1N



Series: A Taste of Honey [6]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Boys In Love, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Partying, Recreational Drug Use, Touring Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 18:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAPERSK1N/pseuds/PAPERSK1N
Summary: John and Paul have been together so long, it's pretty easy to spot the signs. John always notices first, but Paul catches up eventually.





	(He's in Love with Me and) I Feel Fine

**_1965_ **

 

 

 

John had noticed it.

 

He’d known Paul for so long now, it was impossible _not_ to notice even the slightest change in his behaviour. They’d been intimate since he was seventeen years old- spending day in and day out more or less joined at the hip- so even the most mundane shift in mannerism was impossible to ignore. Little touches that might’ve gone over the heads of others were giant, blinking indicators to John, just as bright and beautiful as the glowing advertisements they’d seen on their first visit to New York city.

 

Paul had been acting off the entire day, and John, of course, knew why.

 

He knew all the signs by now. Paul had been full of energy right from their eight am wake up call (a nightmare for a pair of rockers, but pretty essential when you had a ten o’clock daytime television appearance) and was ravenous for the entire day, scoffing two grease soaked burgers at lunch and stealing chips ( _fries_ , the Americans kept reminding them) off of John’s plate every time he averted his eyes. He’d been almost _bouncing_ off the walls by the time they made it to their evening show, and from the moment he’d stepped off stage it was as if a live wire had struck him, adrenaline high in full affect. It seemed almost akin to the feeling they used to get in the old days- that first rush of a prellie in the first hour of a Hamburg show, or the shuddering heartbeats and trembling hands they’d all shared after their first few big American concerts, screaming girls still audible from backstage. By now, in 1965, the novelty had just begun to wear off- albeit only slightly. They still found the global fascination with their silly little rock band amusing, but by now they were pretty used to the hunger and the applause of the rabid fans. It took a little more than adrenaline to get any of them so worked up.

 

 

Regardless, Paul had been absolutely wired from the moment the show had started to the second they’d bounded off the stage, grabbing John from behind and pressing an excited, aggressive kiss into the side of neck in an uncharacteristic display of public affection.

 

The sudden change in demeanour had gone more or less unnoticed by Paul, and the rest of their entourage hardly batted an eyelid, but John had been watching him closely- and he suspected George and Ringo could tell too that his change was something less psychological and more… _biophysical_.

 

It was easy to forget, caught up in the whirlwind of fame, but Paul was an Omega, and a male one at that. As a result of this; these kind of things were actually quite unpredictable. His deviation of status was rare enough to the point where there hadn’t been much medical exploration into his biological clock at all, not like there was for women whose heats ran alongside menstruation and ovulation and all the other complex wonders of the female body that they found so impossible to comprehend. Paul’s version of _heat_ was slightly different, more driven by testosterone and a craving for physical satisfaction rather than an urge to procreate, and so far, were almost impossible to schedule.  They didn’t work on a clock you could time and prepare for- sometimes they were completely random and other times they could be triggered by specific events. The first time they made it to number one on the American charts, pure emotion and excitement had tipped him over the edge, and they’d soon found themselves sprinting out of the party early, Paul’s lips chasing after him before they’d even made it home.

 

Doctors were more or less unhelpful, no matter how much cash they threw at the problem. They could give rough estimates, but ultimately, the whole thing was up to fate- and being a red-blooded Alpha male, John could say with confidence that he really didn’t mind at all, and he didn’t suspect Paul did either.

 

Still, he’d learnt to read the signs, and this night in particular, Paul was showing all of them.

 

Joining Ringo in their private booth at the back of the club, John watched his mate with an amused smirk. It was actually quite entertaining, this early stage of heat, waiting and watching to see if the penny would drop sooner rather than later. He lit up a cigarette and watched as Paul spun not one but two pretty girls into a dance, pulling them close to his sweat soaked skin, throwing his head back as they giggled and slobbered all over him.

 

John wasn’t going to say anything at all, but there was another pair of eyes watching Paul’s dancefloor antics, beautiful in blue and wise beyond their years.

 

 “Exciting night ahead for you then, solider.” Ringo mumbled around the butt of his cigarette, offering one to John.

 

“Hm?” John accepted the cigarette and struck a match, choosing to play coy for no particular reason. “What makes you say that?”

 

“Him.” Ringo nodded over in Paul’s direction. John’s gaze followed just as Paul, one arm slung over each bird, pulled the closest one to his lips and kissed her hungrily. That would be the hormones then, finally starting to kick in and turn his desperation from relentless excitement into full-blown lust, looking for a quick release. Not that John really minded. Besides the whole thing making a pretty show, he understood that it would hardly be appropriate for Paul to be snogging _him_ like that, in the middle of a club packed out with people, if they were still insisting on keeping the whole thing secret.

 

Besides, despite their relationship and the deep routed love they shared for one another, when they’d first seen the spoils of mega-fame and realised just exactly the lengths some girls would go to just to flutter their false eyelashes at them, Paul and John had come to an unlikely agreement.

 

They loved each other of course, but, they were still _lads_. They still _liked women_ \- John still had his Bardot poster up on their bedroom wall to this day and Paul kept a glorious collection of dirty rags acquired from all over the world as they went on their travels. They’d been in agreement more or less from the start that fooling around with girls was perfectly fine given that they had such unthinkable opportunities presented to them- just so long as Paul never took another Alpha and John never _ever_ went near another Omega. And, of course, it could only be a shag- nothing more.

 

John really quite liked the arrangement- and Paul, the insatiable _git_ , loved it.

 

“He’s in heat, mate.” Ringo scoffed, and John leant back against the plush settee, cocking his eyebrows.

 

“Aye. You noticed then?”

 

“Noticed? With a hooter like this, how could I not? I can smell ‘im from here.”

 

 “God, I thought only I could smell him this far. How strong is your hooter?”

 

“It’s not me, it’s him!” Ringo laughed, and this time, when they both looked over, Paul had his tongue in the other girl’s mouth, as the first one wrapped her hands around his slim waist, peppering kisses to the side of his neck. “He’s _dripping_ in it. Sending those girls barmy. Other lads in the room are starting to notice too.”

 

Only then did John tear his eyes away from the delectable scene, noticing for the first time the _other_ eyes that followed his mate- other Alpha males with curious expressions. They could smell the heat in the air, but the dancefloor was so packed with so many sweaty, glorious bodies, it was impossible to tell who from. Still, they were getting closer and closer to the source- not that Paul seemed to notice or care, whirling his new lady friend into a spin, sweat dripping from his fringe and shining from beneath the open collar of his shirt.

 

John sighed. He supposed he’d have to wait and enjoy a more private showcase of Paul’s impressive dance moves, back inside where things were safer for them both. “Can’t have that then, can we?” he stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, pushing his hair back from his face but making no immediate effort to stand.

 

Ringo cleared his throat awkwardly. John supposed it was awkward, four lads being best mates, but two of the best mates shagging each other senseless at any viable opportunity. George had had years to get used to it before he came along. Still, John had to credit their drummer. He’d taken the whole thing more or less in his stride. “You should, uh, probably take him home. Back to the hotel, like.”

 

“That I should.” John finished his drink and stood up, straightening his trousers before shooting Ringo a dirty wink. “No rest for the wicked, ay lad?”

 

“Devil.” He smiled in response.

 

John didn’t say anything else, after that. Still mindful of the other eyes watching on, he stalked across the room to the spot Paul had made for himself on the dancefloor, and his mate smelt him before he saw him, lifting his nose from the neck of his latest squeeze, and looking across the way at John with hooded eyes. His eyes were drooping, completely scent drunk off this little yank chick who could hardly believe her luck, and still a little loose from the mix of alcohol and pot they’d smoked earlier. Still, when he saw John he gave a sultry smile, nodding for him to approach. The girl turned and spotted him too, eyes widening with excitement and (possibly) arousal. John just laughed to himself. Silly lass probably thought she’d hit the big time with not one, but two Beatles in her presence. Little did she know the only action occurring tonight would have absolutely no use for her.

 

As she kissed Paul’s cheek and John drew closer, she looked up at him with a knowing smile. this close, it was clear as day not just _who,_ but _what_ Paul was. John didn’t care if she knew. These days, he was fighting the urge to scream it from the rooftops, but both Paul and Brian were still so keen on playing things safe, so he kept his lip buttoned. Nobody would bother believing one little girl- but they couldn’t always be careful. Paul’s sex drive was astonishing, and one little girl could so quickly turn to two, or three or four hundred, and with the rumour mill churning up a storm, he supposed it wouldn’t be much longer before one of them might spill the truth and the rest would follow.

 

Brian’s advice was just to continue keeping quiet about it, but John didn’t see how much longer the whole charade could possibly last. It was actually something he and Paul fought over quite often. John didn’t give a fuck about the detriment it might have on their careers. He didn’t care about the fame, nor the success. He just wanted the whole world to know that Paul was his, and his only.

 

But Paul lived and breathed _beatlemania_. Without the fans, he felt empty, and so- they carried on waiting.

 

Content with the shroud of the crowd around them, John reached for Paul’s hand and tugged him out of the girl’s arms with just enough force that she stumbled, face falling when she realised her prize was intended for another victor. For a second, she looked as if she wanted to protest, but Paul melted into John’s arms so easily and without hesitation, arms wrapping around his middle as he allowed himself to be led away- far from the cigarette smoke and the raucous music, shielded from prying eyes by the cool night air, paparazzi long packed up and streets more or less empty save for the waiting hire cars and taxis.

 

Once they made it to the pavement, Paul wrapped his arms around himself and smiled dreamily, as if he’d just hit the loveliest, softest pot in the world.

 

“What?” John chuckled, heart swelling just at the sight of him.

 

“I’m in heat, aren’t I?” Paul replied.

 

“Glad you noticed.” John pressed his hand into the small of Paul’s back, pushing him towards the road as Alf flashed his headlights and pulled the car around to the front of the club, reaching back to unlock the back door with a click. “Now, c’mon love. I suppose I ought to do the gentlemanly thing and have me way with you before you leave me for some hard-faced yank cunt.”

 

“I’d never.” Paul’s lips were brushing his cheekbone before they’d even made it to the car, and despite wanting to give him absolutely everything, John was still mindful of those outside the club who might’ve been waiting for them. He ushered Paul into the car with a gentle shove, and nodded politely to Alf, who, as usual, had absolutely nothing to say.

 

As he took his seat on the left side, Paul was all over him like a rash, throwing a leg over John’s so that he was almost in his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck in a bid to pull him closer. “I want you so bad, Johnny.” He mumbled against John’s skin, licking and suckling until tiny red marks began to appear on his neck.

 

“Steady on, lad.” John wrapped an arm around his waist as they turned a corner outside of the private road, keen not to see Paul go flying through the front windscreen. “Let’s not give Alf here nightmares.”

 

Alf laughed, but again, said nothing, flicking the radio on to give them some semblance of privacy, an old Elvis tune John couldn’t quite place drawling out through the tinny speakers. He’d seen it all before, anyway, countless times. Everyone in the inside circle knew that whether Paul was in heat or not, he could never be swayed when wanting.

 

“But I do, John,” At this point, Paul was almost slurring his words, scenting John rather than just assaulting his neck, nose searching for the make-up covered mating scar. “And it isn’t just the heat talking. I feel like this all the time- heat just makes it harder to ignore. I want you so bad it drives me _mad_.”

 

“You should write that down.”

 

“ _Later_.”

 

“Alright, alright-” Instead of fighting his urges, John shut Paul up with a kiss, followed by several others, until they pulled up in front of their home-for-the-night, another in the long line of swanky hotels they sheltered in until it was time to move on, new town, new crowd, same old Beatle business. Even in his altered state, Paul was still smart enough to keep himself respectable as they bristled through the lobby, heads down, hands in their pockets, Paul successfully distracting himself with a menthol cigarette as the security guard led them up to their private floor, accessible through the service elevator as not to alarm any other guests who might be milling around at three in the morning, eager for yet another piece of their battered hearts. Once they’d made it to their floor and politely said their goodbyes to the burly, American officer, John gave Paul a grin before tackling him by the waist and throwing him over his shoulder. They used to do this in the old days, back when they could stumble drunk through the streets of Liverpool without a pack of screaming girls chasing them. Paul had, admittedly, put on a few pounds since those days. John didn’t care. He stumbled with the new, imbalanced weight as Paul laughed and squirmed atop him, cigarette abandoned on the carpeted corridor floor. John set him down and scrambled to unlock the door, and from then, they raced each other to the bedroom, clothes already off by the time they made it to the giant, feather-stuffed bed.

 

“I love you, John Lennon.” Paul grinned as he took John in his arms, rubbing his face into his lover’s neck. “Now, shut up and do me like you really mean it.”


End file.
